


honey wine

by MissSunFlower94



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Cel Sidebottom talk about your backstory challenge, Cel and Zolf take a break, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, Other, Pining, and I do mean that in the same way Azu and Kiko take a break, that kind of break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26586991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: Zolf and Cel have a conversation over a bottle of a certain Elvish mead
Relationships: Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom/Zolf Smith
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	honey wine

**Author's Note:**

> I will not deceive you audience; I know I tagged this as the same kind of break as Azu and Kiko's but there will not a be a lil kiss at the end of this one. These two need a few more not-quite-dates before they're at that level.
> 
> Anyway the ZolfCel brainrot is real, y'all.

It’s late. Everyone on the ship needs to sleep, body swap or no, because  _ Zolf _ needs to sleep before he can possibly do anything about it. And he will, but there’s something he goes to do first.

Zolf had noticed more than one instance of Carter on deck drinking something that was very much not the grog on the ship, and he didn’t think it was anything nicked from Earhart’s cabin either. He doesn’t really care that Carter snuck his stash from the anti-magic cell onto the ship, but it’d given him an idea he can finally act on while Carter’s body isn’t inhabited by Carter. 

Nataan still has the man’s bag with him and there’s a short conversation that isn’t as awkward as Zolf expected before it’s passed to him to search. Zolf finds what he’s looking for immediately; an old brown bottle, the label on it simple and handwritten in a language he can’t read but recognizes as Elvish. 

He passes the bag back to Nataan and raises a finger to his lips, hoping the gesture translates to kobold culture. It does, and he’s met with a grin that’s just a little too wide and toothy for Carter’s face but holds a very similar mischief. Zolf shakes his head and leaves.

That was the easy part of the plan. He nearly turns back three separate times on the way to the engine room. This isn’t like giving them the lightning elementals, where there was practicality at its core. This is… personal. Zolf almost turns again, and stops himself. No. Cel’s- they’ve gone through a lot on this trip so far and they deserve something to tell them that it’s appreciated - that they’re appreciated. He’s not good with words, but he can do this. 

Maybe he could get Azu to give it to them. No. No, he’s already at their door. He’s already at their door and he hasn’t the faintest idea of what to say, but that probably wouldn’t have helped. He knocks. 

There’s a pause, long enough that he second guesses himself (he doesn’t actually  _ know _ that Cel sleeps in the engine room; he just sort of  _ assumed _ ). Before he can talk himself into just leaving it and fleeing the door opens and Cel is there, looking down at him in surprise.

“Oh hello, Mr.- Mr. Smith- Zolf,” they say. They run a hand back through their hair, brushing strands of it off their forehead. They’re missing their goggles and are wearing neither their winter coat from Hamid nor their usual long leather jacket - the engine room significantly warmer than the rest of the ship. It makes them look undressed to a degree that has Zolf wanting to blush. “Is something wrong?”

The genuine concern in their voice shakes him out of his embarrassment. “What? Oh no. No, no no. Everything’s fine. Well, I mean, fine as it’s been. Nothing’s, you know, gotten drastically worse.”

Cel relaxes and they share a crooked smile with him. “Guess that’s really the best we can say right now.”

“Pretty much.”

“So, what  _ does _ bring you here, then?” They ask, smile widening to something more relaxed and playful. “Got more clocks for me to defuse?”

“No. Well- not exactly. As in, not a clock- but a, um, gift.” Zolf winces. 

Cel’s eyebrows leap up expressively, but they seem more curious than anything. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Um, here.” He brandishes the bottle. “Nicked it from Carter,” he adds, thinking Cel might like that.

They don’t look like they do - but then they don’t really look like they heard him. As soon as they see the mead, they freeze, their smile vanishing immediately. Zolf feels his stomach swoop with nerves. This was a terrible idea, why did he do this?

“Oh. I- thank- thank you.” Their eyes finally go from the bottle to his face. “I- um- I already got- took one from when- from before.”

“I know,” Zolf says a bit too quickly, and flushes. “I mean, I noticed, and that you didn’t really- that you sorta kept it. So I thought you’d like... maybe you could have one to drink and one to keep.” Cel is now looking at him with the same wide-eyed expression they were giving the bottle. “Or-or you could have two to keep? Up to you, I- I guess.”

There’s a pause before Cel’s expression softens a fraction. Enough that Zolf no longer feels like he’s totally screwed up. “Well, thank you very much, um, Zolf.” Then they smile again, and it’s the bright grin that says they’re pushing something down. “Did I miss a gift-giving holiday of some kind? I don’t- I appreciate it but I don’t know why you...”

He flushes darker. “Oh, no. This is just a- a thank you? And a sorry, I suppose; this whole trip’s been a lot more... well, a lot  _ more _ than expected and I know that’s been stressful on you. And I’m sorry.”

Cel laughs nervously, their eyes flicking back to the mead, to over his shoulder, to anything other than him. “Well, I don’t know about that. I mean, I- I’ve stayed in my own body for the length of it so really it was a lot better for me - which hardly seems fair given that I built the cage so I really should have dealt with the problems and-”

“Cel. That’s my point.” The smile falters. Zolf mentally kicks himself and gentles his tone. “It’s not your fault, what happened, and you’ve been dealing with a lot so-“ he holds the mead out with what he hopes is a casual smile. “Here.” 

After another second’s hesitation, Cel reaches out and takes the bottle. They turn it over in their hands a few times, brush their thumb over the label. “Thank you,” they say again, bringing their eyes back to his, a blush coloring their cheeks slightly. Zolf shrugs, not wanting to come across as dismissive but truly having no idea what to say. A little of Cel’s smile blooms again and he relaxes. 

Well, that’s done. Still they both linger in the threshold of the engine room. “Right,” Zolf begins, taking half a step back from the door. 

“Have you ever had any?” Cel blurts. Zolf blinks and their cheeks darken further. “The- the American mead, I mean. Or I suppose any mead, I guess? Do- do they make mead in Europe? There’s sake in Japan which is the same kind of, you know, sweetness, I’ve found but it’s not quite mead and I don’t know what they make in Europe at all. But you’ve- you’ve traveled a bit and-” 

“Cel.  _ Cel _ .” Their rambling eventually fades out, which is actually good because it’s given him time to think of his reply. “Europe does have mead, but most folk would talk about the American stuff as being better - but that might have just been because it was rare. The uh, pirate ship I was on for a couple years had a hold of some. Don’t remember much about it, just that that’s what it was. It’s been a while.”

Cel nods in a way that looks like they’re only half-listening. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, makes sense.” They glance behind them, then back to Zolf. “D- did you want to maybe… I mean, it’s been a- a while for me, too, and if I’m gonna break this open might be nice to, to share the experience?”

Zolf blinks again, very, very aware of how hot his face is. “Uh,” he says eloquently. He clears his throat. “Um, yeah. Yeah, that- if you want. I know that- that’s important to you so…”

“I- yeah, that’s- that’s why I-” Cel stops short on what they were going to say, instead turning quickly around, their tone much more cheerful as they say, “You want to come in?”

Zolf stutters his affirmative and follows them. There’s not the hammock they had strung up in the anti-magic cell, just a pile of fabric - including the large fur coat - formed into what can only be called a nest. He feels his lips twitch, amused, watching them plop themself down in the center. After a moment’s hesitation, he sits at the very edge. 

Cel shoots him a quick smile and turn the bottle over a few more times in their hands, before they pop the seal on the top. They bring it close and smell it, closing their eyes with a little, content sigh. 

To his surprise, they pass it to him first. “You want to do the honors?” They ask, the smile growing to something inviting that makes him feel quite warm. 

“Uh, sure,” he says, smooth as ever, and takes a swig from the bottle. 

Zolf’s had European mead before, and had the stuff that was on his ship way back when, but he is quickly considering that what they had thought was American mead must not have been. Or, if it was, it hadn’t been Elvish, because what he just drank is far better than anything he’s ever tasted. Honey sweet without being saccharine and incredibly smooth. He looks at the bottle in pleasant surprise and passes it to Cel, catching their expectant expression. 

“It’s- it’s good,” he says, as glowing an endorsement as he has the vocabulary for. “Really good. Just… yeah.” 

Cel grins, seemingly delighted by his understated reaction. They take their own swig. As they bring the bottle down, Zolf watches a number of complicated emotions play over their features before it settles on, of all things, quizzical. “Hm,” they say, looking at the label with an air that is almost disappointed. 

“What?”

Cel hands it back to him with a small shrug. “Just, it’s good but it’s- it’s not  _ great _ , you know? I’ve had better - I’ve made better,” they add, almost as an afterthought.

Zolf raises his eyebrows, thinking about his own assessment of the alcohol in his hand. Then the end of the statement hits him. “Wait - you make mead?” 

They raise their eyebrows right back. “Brewing is the  _ easiest _ form of alchemy in the world,” they say. 

“No, no I believe you,” he says. “I just… was that something you, um- I mean, did you…?”

“Are you asking if I made this?” Cel says, gently teasing. “Because, buddy, unopened mead can last a while but not that long.”

They don’t say how long  _ that long _ is, unsurprisingly. Zolf knows so little about Cel, and he doesn’t think that’s entirely by accident. What he knows is pieced together from off-hand anecdotes thrown into rambling explanations. He’s not the type to force people to talk about themselves, but sometimes he hopes… 

Even as he’s thinking it, Cel’s expression softens to something nearly unrecognizable and they look up at the ceiling with a long sigh. “My village- we didn’t really… trade ours, much. It wasn’t so much an industry as a, a community thing, I suppose. Not sure where this one is brewed. Probably somewhere in the Appalachia area…” They fall momentarily silent, puzzling some geography out. Zolf says nothing, barely daring to breathe, lest they realize they’re actually talking about themself and stop. They give up a second later, looking at him again; he hopes his expression is not as stunned as he feels. “I didn’t spend a lot of time there so I can’t say for sure.”

Zolf nods, takes another sip of the mead, allows himself a moment to think of what to say next, what he can ask. “Was that what got you interested in alchemy?”

Cel hesitates, looking at the bottle that he passes to them. “I don’t- I don’t really remember,” they say, but they’re still smiling that small, personal smile. “But, yeah. I think that was some of it. Mead’s just- it’s lovely don’t get me wrong, but it’s so simple, you know? There’s so much you could  _ add _ to it!” They take another drink, then lick their lips experimentally. Zolf looks away. “I could do some very exciting things with this,” they add, handing it back.

“I bet,” he says absently, currently debating another drink. It’s very good mead, and the atmosphere is warm and comfortable and Cel is  _ smiling _ and  _ sharing _ and if he leaves he’s not sure this will ever happen again. Still, the exhausting day has long since caught up with him and tomorrow won’t be any better. “I won’t use up any more of your base, then,” he says, returning the bottle. 

An emotion flickers over Cel’s face, eaten up by a large yawn before he can read it. They cover their mouth, and when they lower their hand their expression is closer to it’s usual cheer. “Right. It’s a bit late, isn’t it? Should probably - you need your spells and all that tomorrow.” 

“You need to rest, too,” he points out. They wave a hand dismissively. “Cel,” he says firmly. “You are not staying up all night doing experiments on mead.” 

“Well then what did you even _give it to me_ for?” They say with exaggerated petulance. 

“I will confiscate that.” 

Zolf reaches and they lift the bottle high over their head. “I would like to see you try, buddy!” They’re laughing and so is he; the engine is far enough from the other cabins that he doesn’t feel bad about keeping anyone awake. “Besides, I have  _ two _ bottles now - thanks to you.”

Zolf groans, similarly exaggerated. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he mutters.

Cel lowers their hand, their grin fading into something more gentle and a bit shy. “I- Thank you, Zolf. Really.”

He stands, running a hand through his hair and hoping the flush to his cheeks can be excused by the drink. “It was nothing. Thanks for, um, sharing.”

Cel remains sitting, fidgeting with the bottle. “Oh, you’re- you’re welcome. It was… nice.” 

Zolf doesn’t think they’re talking about the mead. He doesn’t think he is either. The shift in the atmosphere is subtle but the engine room suddenly feels very small and very warm. He clears his throat, taking a half step back. “Right. Well. N- ‘Night, Cel.” 

This time, Cel doesn’t stop him - though their eyes linger on his face. “Yeah. Night, Zolf.”

He leaves, the warmth lingering from their mead and their proximity warding him from the cold night air. He returns to his cabin, the taste of honey still on his lips, and almost laughs when he thinks he might owe Carter a  _ thank you _ . 


End file.
